


Sniper

by Eavenne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, M/M, Nostalgia, Soldiers, War, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23137930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eavenne/pseuds/Eavenne
Summary: Engulfed by the roaring winter, Tino walks on.
Relationships: Finland/Sweden (Hetalia)
Kudos: 32





	Sniper

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Human AU set in an unspecified war. Any relation to IRL wars is unintentional.
> 
> Tino = Finland  
> Berwald = Sweden

The snow has swallowed the horizon.

Tino’s breath drifts before his face. He takes a step forward; looks down. His boot sinks knee-deep into the snow. It seems so soft. When he was a child, he’d always thought the snow was like a pillow. Now, every cell of his body aches to sleep. And if he just lets himself fall face-first into the white, he’ll never have to wake up again.

He looks up. The sky is a canvas of shifting greys. Tino inhales; exhales. He recalls the sky they looked at together one year ago. The sound of his dearest friend’s voice echoes through the vast, empty snowfield – the winter wind shrieks as it slices through his clothes, and Tino can’t breathe.

The tears freeze on his cheeks. “Where are you?” he asks, reaching out for a hand that’s no longer there. “Can you hear me?” The wind rushes through his outstretched fingers. “Are you watching me?” He takes a shaky breath.

“Berwald?”

But the wind snatches the name from his lips.

* * *

Once, Tino had known what he was fighting for.

Then the days bled together and his eyes grew used to corpses, and Tino forgot. He lived hour by hour, minute by minute. With every squeeze of the trigger, he was glad that the enemy had died in his stead. With every dead body added to the pile, he looked at Berwald and prayed that their turn would never come.

They trudged through long days and endless nights. The snow fell thicker, unrelenting, and the blood seeped into their dreams. Was this how their lives were going to end? They’d barely just left school. They hadn’t even truly lived. But now the past felt unreal, like a fragment of a happy dream. All that laid before them now were dead bodies, slowly being swallowed by the falling snow. If this was life, was it really worth living?

“We’re going to go home,” said Berwald, one starless night. “We’re going to get through this alive. And then we’ll go home together. We’ll spend the rest of our lives together.”

Yes. Tino would never forget the look in Berwald’s eyes that night; how he, despite knowing nothing at all, spoke with the confidence of a man who had seen the future. His hands, gripping Tino’s own, were strong and calloused. He brought Tino into an embrace – in Berwald’s arms, Tino felt as though he were already home.

That’s right, he thought.

With you by my side, I can do anything.

* * *

Berwald was already dead when Tino found him.

He buried his head in Berwald’s chest and screamed and screamed and refused to leave. He tore his voice to shreds crying for Berwald to please come back. Surviving meant nothing if it meant that he’d be alone forever. Home meant nothing if he didn’t have anyone to go home with. He begged, he pleaded for the person lying dead before him to be someone, anyone else, for this to all be all a mistake, for some miracle to occur, for Berwald to open his eyes again.

But the winter had long since settled into Berwald’s body.

* * *

He wanders, alone, in a world of white.

Tino doesn’t have the strength to plan ahead. He focuses on each immediate goal as it comes, and quickly moves to the next. That’s the only way he can continue, now – one step at a time, one foot after the other.

There has to be something that they were fighting for.

If not, Berwald’s death would have been meaningless. If not, every soldier’s death would have been meaningless. There must have been something they clung on to as they felt themselves slipping away and the coldness sinking beneath their skin. There must have been a dream that they reached for, long ago, when the world was still beautiful.

They’re gone now, but this isn’t the end.

Tino’s sniper rifle lies heavily against his back. He doesn’t know how many he’s killed, now – he doesn’t want to think about it. This is the only thing left for him to do. This is the only way for him to ensure that those who fought by his side didn’t die for nothing.

It’s the only way for him to bring his memory of Berwald home.

* * *

Once, long ago, they’d looked up together at a vast blue sky.

“I love you,” Berwald had said, “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Back then, the world had seemed so simple. Nothing could have torn them apart; there was no force strong enough to wrench Berwald’s hand from his. The war was going to be short, and they were going to win, and they would come home together and never be apart again. “Let’s get married in the church on the hill,” Berwald had said that day, his eyes bright, his smile tender –

The marble gravestone is cool against Tino’s forehead.

“I do,” he says.

He buries the ring in Berwald’s grave.


End file.
